4 O'Clock
by snarkvenger
Summary: Nightmares. Hellish ones. They swam into Neal's head each and every night, scaring him awake at the same ungodly early morning hour. He could find no relief, no solace. He only stared at the clock watching the precious minutes slip away.
1. Only Maddness Knows My Name

_Disclaimer: White Collar and all of it's characters do not belong to me. This story does.  
**A/N: **_Not entirely sure if I want to keep this story as is or add on to it, so let me know what you think. Reviews make me a very happy little author.

---

The darkness consumed him, wrapping tight around his arms and his waist, crawling around his hips and twisting around his neck, latching onto his ankles. He couldn't tell if eyes were open or closed anymore. He shook his head, fought against it, but those horrid vines were much too powerful. They held him down tighter. He screamed as loud as could but found that no sound could work its way out of his dry throat.

"Please," he breathed and then he coughed and the action rippled through his body, shaking him and the vines coiled tighter all over his body and then, as quickly as they had shot to grab him, the released their grip and let him go. He relaxed and looked down at his leg, felt down it until he came to his ankle. It was scarred. In the dim light he saw his skin was red and raw. It burned.

Neal shot upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his face, his breathing heavy. He felt like somebody was sitting on top of his lungs. He tried to breathe in as deeply as he could but found that, no matter how much air he managed to take in, he couldn't get it out. He glanced around the room, shadows dancing around him in the dim moonlight. He ripped the covers off of his body and drew his knees in to his chest. He glanced down at his ankle. There it was, bulky and ugly and gray, the soft red light blinking up at him. It wasn't the scar he'd seen his dream- in his nightmare- but it was close enough. Neal looked to his left and saw the numbers of his alarm clock slowly bleeding into one another.

4:00.

4:01.

4:02.

Neal shook his head and swung his legs over the side of the bed, slowly standing and making his way into his bathroom. The cool tiles made him suck in his already shaky breath sharply. He hadn't been expecting it. He considered turning on the light, but then figured it would be too difficult to coax his tired mind back to sleep if he allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. He stood at the sink and ducked under the faucet. He groped around for the dial and turned it, jumping a little as the cool liquid hit his neck. He stayed there for a minute and then lifted his head and shook out his damp hair. He reached for a small wash towel that he kept beside the sink and patted his neck dry.

He hadn't intended to, but as Neal was lowering the wash towel back down on the counter he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He couldn't make out his features distinctly in the darkness but he did notice the deep circles under his eyes, the pale complexion of his skin.

"Damn," he muttered, the only word that managed to dance its way off of his tongue.

Neal shook his head again in a desperate attempt to clear it. His attempt proved fruitless, but at that point the man was much too exhausted to care. He shuffled out of the bathroom and crawled back into bed, snuggling underneath his comforter. He relaxed his head on one pillow and reached up to grab another, which he hugged close to his chest. He buried his face into the pillow, wishing that it were not a mere pillow and, instead, could have been a person. Someone who could calm him down after such a hellish dream. Someone who could hold him. Someone who could tell him that everything would be ok. Someone who could make him believe that was true.

Neal sighed deeply and turned on his side, staring into the LED numbers on his clock, watching time, precious minutes, slip away.

4:15.

4:16.

4:17.

He closed his eyes, wrestled with his racing mind, desperate for that calming slumber he had gone without for many a long night. He opened his eyes again, accepting failure, and instead of fighting against himself anymore he just laid there, still and silent, watching time creep by.

4:19.

4:20.

4:21.

---

The plan was simple. They would give Neal the money and he would waltz into gallery under the pseudonym of Harvey Smith, an avid art collector who has just flown in from North Carolina. He would inspect the painting for as many minutes as he deemed reasonable, and, with that sly and charming smile, he would offer up all that he had. Then the FBI agents, who many in the office deemed to be the true heroes of these many operations, would swoop in and grab the painting, taking the thief who'd taken away in handcuffs. They'd done it before, both with and without Caffrey, and they would do many times again. It was simple. Foolproof. Perfect.

Or, at least, it should have been.

When Peter arrived at the office that morning he had been expecting Neal to be there already, waiting for him in the swivel chair behind his back, wearing that ridiculous grin and greeting him in his all-too-chipper manner before offering a chair up to him and asking what mischief the FBI would be getting him into today.

Neal was there. He was in the swivel chair behind the desk. But he wore no grin. He gave no greeting. He offered Peter no seat and asked him no questions.

Peter slipped off his coat and draped it over one of the chairs in front of his desk, the one he normally pushed Neal into each time he found the younger man sitting haughtily at his desk. He looked Neal over. The ex-con didn't seem to notice him. He was pale, with dark purple circles under his dull and expressionless eyes.

"Morning, Neal," Peter said. Neal made a small, harsh noise in the back of his throat but other than that gave no response. "Neal?"

"Huh?" Neal looked up. He looked dazed, Peter noticed, as if he weren't all there. "Oh. Morning."

Neal glanced around the room, noticing where he was sitting, and quickly stood up and sat himself in the chair Peter had just dropped his coat on. Neal fidgeted a little as he looked around again and then met Peter's eyes once more.

"Sorry," he said softly. Peter shook his head. Never before had he seen Neal Caffrey do such a thing. It had become a kind of a game between the two to see who could get on the other's nerves more. Neal would be his usual self, cool and sly and witty, touching on Peter's nerves with small things such as stealing his chair or commenting on his bland sense of style, speaking just the slightest bit out of term in a meeting or complimenting Elizabeth one more time than Peter had. To counter, Peter would offer up long lectures to the younger man when they were trapped in a space together for long hours in certain operations, or bragging about Elizabeth's wonderful cooking and what she would be preparing for the night and then making up some excuse about why Neal couldn't be invited to share the dinner with them. It wasn't the kind of game that Peter particularly enjoyed, but it was something that kept both himself and Neal occupied. It was something that happened every day, whether either man had planned on what they'd be doing or not. It was something Peter had grown very accustomed to and he saw that he today that game simply was not going to be played.

"Neal," Peter started and Neal's eyes widened a little bit at being addressed. "Are you ok?"

"Fine," Neal said a tad bit too quickly. He nodded as if to assure himself that his answer was truthful. "I'm fine. Why?"

"N…Nothing," Peter replied, shaking his head. He looked past the glass walls of his office to see Hughes walking into his own. "I'll be right back," Peter said and before Neal had any chance to respond Peter rushed out of the room.

"Hughes!" he called as he drew closer to the older man. Hughes was already in his office, but he could still hear the younger agent. He glanced up at Peter and motioned for him to come in. Peter pushed the door open and let himself inside, sitting down in a chair Hughes offered to him.

"What is it, Agent Burke?" he asked and Peter wrung his hands, glancing over his shoulder to his office where Neal sat, practically motionless, his eyes trained on the floor. Peter turned back to his superior.

"It's Neal," Peter said slowly, carefully picking out his words. "I know we had him set up to go undercover today, but I just don't know if we should let him go."

"What do you mean?" Hughes asked, his eyebrows knitting together as he lowered gaze toward Peter. "You think Caffrey can't be trusted with this?"

"No, no, it isn't that," Peter said, shaking his head. He found himself looking back again at Neal. He swallowed past the worry in his throat and once again looked back to Hughes. "It's just that, he doesn't look so good to me. He's not…He's not Neal. He just seems so out of it."

"Is he sick or something?" Hughes wanted to know, looking over Peter's shoulder at the ex-con. Neal had lowered his head a bit, as if he could feel the gazes on him.

"I'm not sure. I just don't to risk this operation if Neal isn't up to it. He might not be able to pull it off if he's like this."

"I understand," Hughes said and Peter could see that he meant what he said. Hughes clasped his hands together on the top of his desk and allowed a sigh to escape his lips. "Talk to Caffrey. Get the story. Let me know if he can do this. If he can't, I'll send in Jones. He can act as Mr. Smith's assistant. We're getting this over with today, whether Caffrey can help us or not."

Peter nodded and thanked his superior. He then made his way back into his own office. This time, when the door opened, Neal reacted. He jumped a little bit, as if he had not expected the noise of the squeaking hinges- wasn't it just last week that Neal had made a crack about them?- and turned around to face Peter.

"What was that about?" Neal asked. Peter sat down across from him and looked the ex-con in the eye.

"It was about you, Neal," Peter admitted and he noticed Neal's muscles tensing. "The operation today-"

"Harvey Smith," Neal said suddenly. "Art collector. North Carolina. Don't we have to go soon?"

"Neal, are you sure you can handle this?" Peter asked.

"Handle this?" Neal scoffed. "I've handled worse."

"I know you have," Peter sighed. "But, Neal, you don't look good. You seem tired."

Neal snorted. "Yeah. Tired."

Peter tried to push the sad tone of Neal's voice out of his head, but those two words had already wriggled their way past his skull and were ringing in his ears.

"Neal, this could be dangerous," Peter said. He didn't know that for sure. Well, of course, any operation could be dangerous, but ones like this usually weren't. The art thief here wasn't brilliant like Neal, or Ghovat, and he wasn't clever like that short man Neal was always hanging around with. He was had average intelligence. He knew all the basics. But Peter knew that when Neal had classified the man as a rookie during their briefing on the case that his partner was right. They could catch this guy easily, have the painting recovered and the man behind bars in enough time for Peter to surprise Elizabeth by being on time for dinner. However, despite all of this knowledge filling his brain, Peter felt a fierce protectiveness running through him, a strong desire to keep Neal safe. If he had to lie, he would lie. He just didn't need Neal getting hurt.

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" Peter asked and Neal leaned back in his seat and thought for a few quiet moments.

"4 o'clock," he said softly and Peter felt confusion cover his features. Neal sighed. "4 o'clock. That's when I woke up. I tried to get back to sleep but I couldn't."

"How about the weekend, Neal?" Neal shook his head and leaned his elbows on his knees. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Same," he said. "I haven't been able to sleep. It's been getting worse."

"What wakes you up?" The question was innocent, fueled only by Peter's concern for his partner, but hot tears filled Neal's eyes anyway. He held his head in his hands and bit his bottom lip, desperate to flee from a breakdown. Peter stood up and was at the younger man's side in an instant. He was never good with crying, but he knew something had to be done. Neal couldn't go undercover like this. Peter laid a strong hand on Neal's shaking shoulder and looked up, meeting Hughes' eyes from across the office of the FBI White Collar Crime Unit. He shook his head, glancing down at Neal, who was now forcing himself to take slow and even breathes. Hughes nodded with understanding and Peter nodded back.

The plan was simple.

Neal's life wasn't.

---

Hours later Neal found himself on his couch, fighting for sleep. Peter had instructed him to go home and rest. Neal had protested, wanting badly to go through with the operation and help the man who slipped him the closest thing to a real-life 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. He felt like going through business as usual would help him go back to some kind of normal rhythm in his life. Peter, however, was just as stubborn as he was and after a long bickering match between the two men, Neal had gone home.

So there was, lying on the couch in a quiet room. He had turned the TV thinking that maybe some kind of noise would help to soothe him into sleep but it only gave him a headache that pleaded with him to turn the machine off. He had dozed off a few times in the past hour, but each little nap was shorter than the last until he couldn't keep his eyes closed for more than a minute if he was that lucky. Every time he closed his eyes that horrible nightmare swam into his head. He was scared stiff to sleep, like that girl in that old horror movie. What was it? A Nightmare on Elm Street? Freddy Krueger ruthlessly haunted the dreams of teenagers, killing them if they dared to sleep long enough. This dream was like Neal's own Freddy Krueger, crouching in the darkest corners of his mind, waiting until he was relaxed in sleep before it attacked.

At around ten o'clock Neal made his way from his couch to his bed. For hours that dragged on like days he tossed and turned, closing his eyes as tight as he could as if that would actually help him fall asleep. It must have worked eventually, because he found himself immersed in another one of his nightmares. Those dark vines snakes around his entire body again, tightening around him until the pain was unbearable. He cried out, tears leaking out of his eyes. Before he knew it he was upright in his bed again. He touched his face. The tears he'd shed in his dream were real. Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat Neal looked at the clock.

4:00.

4:01.

4:02.

He reached for his phone, which he always kept on his nightstand so that he could easily grab it on his way out in the morning. He flipped it open and took a shaky breath.

4:03.

4:04.

4:05.

Neal wasn't even sure who he was calling until he had already dialed the number and had the phone held up to his ear. Ring, ring, ring. The sound bounced around in his head until it was broken by a groggy hello.

"It's nightmares," Near breathed into the phone.

"Nigh- …Neal?" Peter's voice sounded distant and Neal felt a pang of guilt run through his body for waking for the poor man at such an ungodly hour. He glanced at the clock.

4:07.

4:08.

4:09.

"Neal?"

"It's nightmares," Neal repeated. "I can't sleep because I'm having nightmares."


	2. Too Tired To Be Fighting

_Disclaimer: White Collar and all of it's characters do not belong to me. This story does.  
**A/N:**_ Wow! Thank you all so much for all of your great reviews, favorites and story alerts! I really can't thank you all enough. Anyway, I was actually hoping to get this chapter up a little sooner but, oh irony of ironies, I had my own little bout with insomnia this week as school started up after Christmas break and I was trying to get myself back into a normal sleep schedule. (Ironically enough I woke up at 4:00 on Sunday night.) Anyway, I'm thinking of doing one or two more chapters and then moving on to a new White Collar story. I hope you guys enjoy this. Remember, reviews make for a happy and much more productive author!

---

"Elle," Peter said softly, lightly touching her shoulder. She shifted slightly underneath the covers. "Elle, I have to go for a little while."

"What?" she whispered, her eyes fluttering open as she rolled onto her back to look up at her husband. "Now? Where? Why?"

"Shh," Peter whispered, bending down to kiss her forehead. "It's ok. I'll be back."

"Who called?" Elizabeth asked, propping herself up on her elbows. "The phone, I heard it ring."

"It was Neal." Elizabeth turned her head to look at the clock. Her eyebrows knitted together and confusion played across her face as she turned again to look back at Peter.

"Neal? At four in the morning?" She pushed herself upright. "Is he ok?"

Peter drew in his breath. After seeing Neal at the office that morning and hearing his desperate voice over the phone, he wasn't entirely sure how he should answer that question. He shook his head to clear it and then gave Elizabeth a small nod.

"He going to be fine," Peter said, words that meant to assure not only Elizabeth but himself as well. Peter straightened up and turned on his heel, making his way out of the room. Satchmo danced around his feet as he descended the stairs and went to the door. He had to push the dog away when he left so that Satchmo wouldn't race out of the house with him.

On his drive to June's home, where Neal was lying awake and exhausted and unable to sleep in his little apartment, Peter couldn't get his conversation with the ex-con out of his head.

_"I can't sleep because I'm having nightmares."_

_ "Nightmares?" Peter had repeated before a yawn rippled through his tired body._

_ "Sorry," Neal said softly and he certainly sounded it. "I shouldn't have woken you up."_

_ "No, no, don't worry about that," Peter replied, pushing himself up so that he was sitting with his back against the headboard of his bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned again. "What do you want me to do?"_

_ "I…" Neal's voice trailed off and he took a shaky breath. Peter knew the sound. It was fresh in his mind because Neal had made the same pitiful little noise in Peter's office just that morning when Peter first questioned him._

_ "Neal? Neal?" Peter waited for the younger man to say something, anything. He started to slide out of his bed, intent on hurrying to Neal's side as quickly as he could. Neal may have been one hell of an annoying pain-the-ass, but there was no denying that he needed help. By the time Neal finally responded Peter was already slipping on his shoes._

_ "I need sleep," Neal said, his voice higher in pitch than Peter had ever it before and then he released a small sob. Peter could just picture him, alone in the dark crying into a telephone receiver. It was quite the pathetic picture._

_ "Relax," Peter said. "I'll be there soon."_

_ "Peter, I-"_

_ "Just relax," Peter interrupted and then he hung up the phone before Neal could say anything else._

Walking into Neal's apartment Peter wasn't entirely sure what he expected to see, but somehow the sight before him didn't surprise him much. The room was dark, lit only by a stream of moonlight stretching from the window on the far wall. On the coffee table was a wine glass with just a tiny bit of the red liquid lining the bottom and beside the glass was the wine bottle Neal had found in his apartment the day he ran, the one he kept assuring Peter meant that Kate was saying goodbye. Neal was on the couch, sitting up with his head titled back and his eyes closed. His cheeks were wet from the tears Peter had heard him cry. The sound of the poor man's sobs still echoed in his head. In one hand Neal held the bottle that Peter assumed the wine had come from.

Peter couldn't tell if Neal was sleeping or not, but if he was the FBI agent certainly didn't want to wake him. He looked around and a saw a blanket on the armchair that sat beside the couch. He picked it up and draped it over Neal, then settled himself on the armchair, folding his hands over his chest and closing his eyes. If Neal needed him he would be right there.

---

He was surrounded by fire this time, a huge, tall wall of it. The flames danced around him, their heat unbearable. Tongues of fire lapped out at him, threatening to grab him and pull him straight into hell. He didn't know what to do. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. He was trapped. The crackling of the fire seemed like laughter to him. Not the joyous, uplifting kind of lighthearted laughter but evil, menacing, maniac laughter.

Beyond the great wall of fire he heard screaming. It was quiet at first, dull and far away, but it didn't take long for the screams to get louder. Some of them were words that he had trouble understand while others were just desperate cries of suffering people. Yes, people were suffering all around him and there wasn't a thing he could to do help them.

The fire was closing in on him now, creeping closer and closer towards him. It touched his skin, burning it on contact. It wrapped around his legs and pulled him down to the ground and he let out a horrible cry of pain. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the fire reached out again and slithered up his arms like a snake. The screams outside the circle of fire grew louder as his own voice joined them.

Neal jerked awake, a short gasp slipping past his lips. He felt someone near him, sitting beside him and he turned and saw Peter there, his strong hand grasping Neal's shoulder in attempt to offer him some kind of comfort.

"What time is it?" Neal hardly realized that it was his own voice saying those words.

"4:30," Peter replied softly. He pulled his hand away and stood up, walking to Neal's kitchen. "How much of that wine did you drink?"

Wine? Had he drank wine? Suddenly aware of the weight in his hand Neal glanced down to see that there was, in fact, an empty wine bottle there. He looked at his coffee table to see the wine glass, just a tiny bit of the drink left inside. He placed the empty bottle in front of the glass and sighed, running a hand over his face.

"More than I thought, I guess," Neal answered, shaking his head. Peter came back into the room with a glass of water and held it out to him. After a short moment of hesitation, Neal reached out and took it. He took a sip as Peter sat back down beside him. A blanket of silence settled over the men for a few uncomfortable minutes.

"So," Peter said, shifting in his seat and clasping his hands together. "Nightmares?"

"Yeah," Neal said. He refused to look at the man seated beside him. His most recent dream swam into his head and Neal quickly slammed his glass of water down on the table and held his head in his hands, desperate to make it go away.

"Neal?" Peter whispered and Neal made a small noise in the back of his throat hoping that Peter understood that that mean he was listening. "What are they about? The nightmares, I mean."

"Different things," Neal said so quietly that Peter, only inches away from him, had to strain to hear. "Darkness, fire. Whatever's there in the dream with me, it always tries to hurt me. It grabs at me, holds me down, holds onto me way too tight. I can hear people screaming. They all sound like they're in so much pain but…but…"

Neal felt tears pricking at his eyes, a sob building up in his throat and he did not want to let either thing escape. He shook his head and straightened his back, leaning his elbows on his knees and his chin on the tips of his steepled fingers. He stared straight ahead of him, biting his lip as he tried to push all of those horrible thoughts out of his mind.

"But you can't do anything for them," Peter finally finished for him and Neal nodded. He combed his fingers through his hair and leaned back against the cushions, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Neal," Peter started and Neal looked at him. "Do you think you might want to get some help for this?"

"Help?" Neal asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Peter sighed, unsure of how to word his suggestion to Neal. The ex-con obviously wasn't it a clear state of mind at the moment, which would certainly makes his comprehension skills below average. With that in mind Peter knew either one of two things would come out of this. One, Neal would agree with him. Two, Neal would get very insulted. Peter figured it wouldn't hurt to take a chance.

"Help, like… Like a therapist." The words rolled off his tongue far more easily than Peter had expected them to. They were in the air before he knew it and he could practically see them dancing about Neal's head as the younger man took them in. Neal shifted in seat and looked away from Peter. The agent followed his gaze and found himself staring down at the Bordeaux bottle.

"A therapist," Neal repeated, his voice soft and Peter nodded even though the ex-con wasn't looking at him. "You know, maybe that… Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea."

"Really?" Peter didn't know why that answer surprised him, but it did anyway. When Neal nodded Peter didn't say anything more for fear of Neal changing his mind. What he did not know was how desperate the younger man truly was for help, how Neal laid alone in his bed every night praying to a God he was slowly beginning to lose faith in. He didn't know how Neal would get up and pace the whole apartment when lying still started to drive him crazy. He didn't know how many nights before this terrible time Neal had stayed awake for entirely different reasons- sitting in his living room with Mozzie, staring at the empty bottle of Bordeaux. No, Peter didn't know the half of it.

Neal asked his older companion for the time again and Peter realized that a half hour had slipped by them. Neal then looked around the room, picked up the glass of water Peter had given him before and walked into the kitchen. He stumbled a little bit, exhaustion tugging at his body. When Neal came back Peter was again surprised by his words.

"So should we just get ready and go then?" Neal asked. Peter blinked a few times, registering the question.

"Go where?"

"Work," Neal stated simple and Peter stood up, shaking his head.

"You're not going to work," he stated and when Neal started to protest the agent spoke over him. "You're in no condition to go to work. I, however, have no choice. You're going to stay here and you're going to rest and I'm going to call my wife, I'm going to go to the office and I am going to track down a good therapist for you."

"Peter-"

"Rest," Peter ordered. "You need it. Try and sleep if you can. Call me if you need to."

"Actually," Neal said a little shyly. "I wasn't trying to fight you that time. I was just going to say that you look like hell."

Peter narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him and asked to be pointed to the bathroom. When he went in and looked in the mirror, Neal standing in the doorway and watching him, he saw that Neal certainly had not lied. Funny, how even when Neal Caffrey felt like absolute shit, he could still point out things like your failing appearance.

---

It taken Peter about an hour to get himself really ready for the day. Since he had been in such a rush to leave his house after Neal's 4AM call he had arrived in his pajamas and therefore needed to borrow some clothes from his younger partner. The clothes were but too snug on him, but he figured they would do for just that day. He had rather enjoyed the tiny speck of light that showed in Neal's eye when he saw Peter come out dressed like that, even if it was only there for a split second.

Once in his car, it hit Peter how tired he was. A long, loud yawn escaped him and he stretched his arms. He shook his head and scrubbed his face with his hands and tried to imagine what it was like to be Neal at that moment, exhausted from not just a mere two hours of lost sleep but put four days worth. Peter reached for his phone and quickly punched in his home number. The phone had barely rung once when Elizabeth's voice swam into his ear.

"About time," she said. She sounded tired. Had she been up that whole time, too, worrying about Neal?

"Sorry, Elle," Peter said just before another yawn rippled through him.

"How is he?" Elizabeth said. Peter shook his head even though he knew his wife couldn't see that. He looked up at June's massive home and pictured Neal inside, lying on the couch just as Peter had left him, fighting for sleep.

"Not good," Peter sighed. He jammed his key into the ignition and started the engine. "He needs help, Elle. He really needs help."

"Insomnia?" Elizabeth asked and Peter confirmed the diagnosis. "How long?"

"Four, maybe five days now. He looks awful." He heard Elizabeth suck in her breath sharply and could just imagine how badly she must feel for poor Neal. It was, of course, no secret that Elizabeth was fond of the ever-so-charming ex-con. The two had made a bond, a strong sibling-like bond that Peter knew would not be broken easily. Elizabeth's first question when Peter came home from work each day, sometimes preceded by "how was your day", was always "how's Neal" and every day when Peter walked into the office, after their usual morning argument, Neal would always ask Peter how his wife was. On some level, it was nice to know that two cared about each other, that they were looking out for each other. Peter sighed deeply. "Listen, I'm heading out to work now. I'm going to talk to Hughes about pushing some work back. I want to find Neal a therapist. He's been having nightmares."

"Nightmares," Elizabeth repeated, the word taking on a kind of chilling tone as it was forced off of her tongue. "That's awful. A therapist will help. That will be good for him."

"I hope so," Peter said. He finally pulled away from June's, throwing one more glance at the building and sending up a silent prayer in hopes that Neal would be ok for the day. Peter shifted his gaze to the road as he brought himself to the FBI building. "I hope so," he repeated.

"Call me if you need anything," Elizabeth said. "Or if Neal needs anything."

Peter felt a smile spread across his face. "I will. I love you."

"I love you, too."

The call was disconnected and Peter stuffed his phone into his pocket. He was able to then focus all his thoughts on helping Neal. He wanted to help Neal. He needed to help Neal. The Neal Caffrey he had sat with that night was not the Neal Caffrey Peter had spent three years chasing, and he wasn't the Neal Caffrey that wiggled his way out of jail and right into the FBI. Peter couldn't believe his own thoughts as they bubbled up in his mind, he wanted the old Neal Caffrey back.

It's interesting how, even though somebody drives you absolutely crazy, you can still drop everything to help then when they needed you.


	3. My Broken Wings Can't Hold My Weight

_Disclaimer: White Collar and all of its characters do not belong to me. This story does.  
**A/N:**_ So sorry it took a while for me to update! Things have been so crazy around here lately, between an overnight charity relay at school last weekend, the many projects and tests my teachers have crammed in for extra grades before the quarter ends, re-painting my room and re-arranging everything in it, and some personal issues. I really wanted to get this up days ago, but I just didn't have the time to finish. Thank you all for being patient, and thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and for your favorites and story alerts! Seeing of all those pop up in my email gave me little bursts of happiness throughout the past two weeks. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Story's almost done!

---

The therapist Peter had managed to find was outside of Neal's two-mile radius, and it was for this reason that the agent sat in his superior's office now. He had just finished explaining the situation to Hughes and the older man was leaning back in his seat, staring at Peter as he made his decision.

"You'll be with Caffrey the entire time he's there?" Hughes asked and Peter inclined his head.

"Yes. I'll drive him there, I'll stay at the office the entire time, and then I'll take him right back home."

"Will he need more than one meeting?" Hughes wanted to know. Peter paused for a moment, remembering how horrible Neal had looked when he'd gone to the apartment, how his face had contorted while he was asleep and dreaming, how his nightmares haunted him even when he was awake.

_"I can hear people screaming. They all sound like they're in so much pain but…but…"_

_ "But you can't do anything for them."_

"I'll let him decide," Peter finally answered, and then he added, "But I think the answer will be yes."

Hughes pressed his palms against his desk, looking at Peter with a certain sternness in his eyes, as if he really didn't want to say what he was about to. "Ok," he decided, nodding. "But you be sure to keep an eye on him."

"Of course," Peter replied. "Thank you."

Peter stood up and made his way towards the door, intent on getting back to his own office as quickly as possible to call back the therapist and confirm the tentative appointment he had set up for Neal. Just as he got to the door, Hughes stopped him.

"Peter."

"Yes?"

"You think he'll be ok?"

Peter's eyes dropped to the floor and everything from the previous night came rushing back to him. The four o'clock phone call, Neal's pathetic sobs, waking up Elizabeth, the drive to June's, the wine on the table, the whimpering sound Neal made when his nightmare became too much for him to endure. The words Neal spoke, the purple circles hanging under his eyes, the desperation clinging to every sentence that fell from the ex-con's lips. They were all running circles in his head and after a minute or two of examining the memories Peter looked back up at Hughes.

"I hope so."

---

In the three hours since Peter had left his apartment, Neal had accomplished absolutely nothing. He had completely given up on the prospect of getting any sleep after his fire-filled nightmare last night. He had tried occupying himself by watching TV or reading or going through case files he and Peter had been working on before his ordeal, but TV bored him and he found focusing far too difficult to manage. He had considering calling Peter, but didn't want to bother him at work, especially after causing him to lose a couple of hours of sleep. Besides, his phone was dead and he couldn't figure out where he had last put the charger.

The result of all of this was a very exhausted and very bored Neal, lying on his couch with an arm thrown over his eyes to save them from the sunlight streaming through his window, the only light he was allowing to pass into the room. And that was when he heard a knocking at the door.

Neal had read _The Raven_ once or twice back in high school, and he remembered how the main character of the poem was sitting alone when he heard some kind of a tapping at the door. He felt kind of like that character at that moment, and wondered if he ignored the noise perhaps some strange talking bird would break into his apartment and start squawking "Nevermore, nevermore."

Of course, that did not happen. After a long while of listening to the knocking Neal pushed himself off the couch and made his way, staggering a little due to the fact that he had not gotten up and used his legs in quite some time. He swung open the door and barely had time to move out of the way as the person knocking rushed inside the apartment.

"You know, this whole hard to reach thing isn't going to work. Do you know how long I've been trying to call you? I know you're busy with all this FBI-business, but would it kill you to pick up the phone? I've been calling and calling all day, I left you three messages! What the hell have you been doing all day?"

"Phone's dead," Neal said and Mozzie finally turned around to look at him, his mouth open to let more words out. He closed it as soon as he saw his friend and he took a step closer to Neal.

"Woah," Mozzie breathed. "You…You look like shit, man, what happened?"

Neal shook his head and made his way back over to the couch, letting himself fall onto the soft cushions. Mozzie walked to him and sat down next to him.

"I can't sleep, Moz," Neal mumbled, looking to his friend with tired eyes. Mozzie shifted in his seat. "I don't know why, but I keep having these nightmares."

"How long?" Mozzie asked.

"Five days."

"Aren't dreams supposed to tell us things sometimes?" Mozzie contemplated, leaning back against the cushions. Neal shrugged his shoulders.

"I've heard that."

"You know, I read somewhere that this guy had a dream about a gun firing over and over again, and he kept on having all these dreams like that. There would be bullets and blood and gunfire, everything, but he never saw what was happening. Later that week, there was armed robbery at his store. A crazed, psycho gunman ran in and just firing. The guy and one of his employees were killed, and three more of them were injured and in the hospital for weeks."

Neal slowly narrowed his eyes at Mozzie. "Well if that's true, keep me away from anything flammable."

"Alright, alright," Mozzie replied, holding up his hands in defense. "Maybe that wasn't the greatest example."

Neal shook his head and stood up. He paced around the room for a minute and then sat back down. He glanced around and then back to Mozzie, who staring at him as if he'd grown a few extra heads.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Mozzie."

"Nothing!"

The two sat there for a few moments, underneath a cloak of silence. Occasionally one of them would shift on the cushions and then just a few minutes later so would the other. Neal was getting uncomfortable with the lack of noise. It is one thing sitting in dead silence when you're all by yourself. It is another thing entirely to be in a room with somebody and still have silence binding your lips. Neal tapped his heel against the floor and glanced over to Mozzie.

"So?" he asked and Mozzie's head shot up like a dog whose name had just been called.

"So what?" he asked, quickly regaining his cool composure.

"What did you come here for?" Mozzie gave Neal a look, his head inclined just a tad and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, as if Neal was speaking a completely different language. "You rushed in here on rant-mode, so what's going on?"

"I was not on rant mode!" Mozzie defended and Neal couldn't help but smirk. "Ok, fine. I was going to tell you that I got some information on that case you were working on. The art thief, he's a hell of a lot smarter than we thought he was. And he wanted a lot more than just those paintings. I did a little research, and the paintings he took were just a decoy. What he really wanted was tucked away in the museum storage. Ancient Egyptian gold. It was brought out of one of the Valley of the Kings tombs, and it's been all around the world now, shown in display after display. This guy visited every one of the museums it's been shown in with private tour groups. A few months ago it was brought here to New York for safe keeping before they bring it out on another tour. He's been planning this operation since the gold was put away."

If Neal had not been so incredibly exhausted Mozzie's findings would have been much more exciting to him. But he was exhausted, so his reaction was nowhere near what it usually would have been. He thought about it for a moment, staring down at his coffee table, and then looked back up to his friend.

"Egyptian gold, huh?"

"Old artifacts, actually. There's tons of it."

"Why was the museum more upset over the paintings?"

"Please," Mozzie scoffed, stretching out his arms and relaxing them over the top of the couch as an air of self-confidence settled over him. "Could you imagine what that kind of news would do to them? They'd be completely done for."

"Have they been trying to recover it at all?" Neal wanted to know.

"Only a few pieces are missing," Mozzie said. "I think they're hoping that if they track down the paintings, they can get the gold."

Neal nodded and asked no further questions and, for once, it seemed that Mozzie had nothing left to say. They sat together in silence again until Mozzie decided that he should leave. First, he made Neal promise to get sleep, and to charge his phone and use it. Then he made his way to the door. When his hand on was the knob, ready to turn it and walk away, Neal stood up.

"Moz," he said so suddenly the man jumped a little bit before turning around. "Have you found out anything else about Kate?"

There was a kind of hopefulness in Neal's voice that just broke Mozzie's heart, because he knew that his answer would rip it all away. He sighed and looked down at the floor, not wanting to see Neal's face when he said, "No."

---

"Don't be mad." Those were the first words Peter said into the phone when his wife picked up.

"You're not coming home," Elizabeth said, more of a statement than a question. Peter sighed and ran his fingers along the steering wheel.

"Not right away," he admitted.

"Work?" she asked and he wondered if he should say yes or no. After a few moments of debating with himself he finally answered her.

"I just want to make sure Neal's ok."

Elizabeth was quiet for a minute, and then, "Did you find him a therapist?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "And by sheer luck I managed to get him an appointment for tomorrow."

"Oh, good," Elizabeth said, relief apparent in her voice. "If he isn't doing alright, stay with him, ok? He probably shouldn't be alone."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, nodding his head even though she couldn't see it. "Yeah, I'll stay with him."

"Call me later?" she asked and Peter felt a small smile appearing on his face.

"I will."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Elle."

It didn't long for Peter to get to June's. The maid let him in and escorted to him to Neal's door. It was unlocked, so Peter knocked once and then let himself inside. Neal was sitting at his dining room table, staring down at a piece of paper that, Peter noticed as he got closer, had a few little notes scribbled on it.

"Hi Neal," Peter greeted and Neal jumped in his chair and whipped his head around.

"Oh," he said softly. "Hi."

Peter gripped one of the other chairs and tugged it closer to where Neal was and then sat down. He looked down at the paper Neal had just returned to staring at. The younger man tapped his pen against the paper, making little black dots in the corner of the sheet. Peter pointed to the paper.

"What do you have there?" he asked casually. Neal set the pen down on the table and slid the sheet to Peter as he leaned back in his seat. Peter picked it up and lifted it off the wood surface just a bit so that he could see it better. Neal's handwriting, usually neat and precise, was sloppy and hardly legible, with scribbles and cross-outs and side notes littering the paper. Peter squinted at it, trying to make out a few of the words Neal had scrawled. Decoy…Gold…Museum storage…Tour…Egypt…Pharaoh. "What's all this about?" Peter asked. Neal leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"That case we were working on, the one I was supposed to go undercover for. Did you catch that guy yet?"

Peter sighed. He hadn't wanted to tell Neal anything until he was, well, functioning again, but at the moment he felt like he had no choice.

"When the guy found out Harvey Smith's assistant was going to show up he backed out of the deal. We tried to get him to work with us, but he refused and we haven't heard anything about him since." Peter narrowed his eyes at Neal. "Why?"

"Because the paintings aren't the only things he stole."

"There's more?"

"Oh yeah," Neal said, nodding his head. "Ancient Egyptian gold."

"Egyptian gold?"

"They were storing it. It had been on tour at museums around the country, and that museum was the last stop. They were asked to store it until everything was set up to move the exhibit into Europe. The gold went missing around the same time as the paintings."

"How'd you find all this out?" Peter asked and Neal shrugged.

"I know a guy." Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Of course you do," he sighed. He looked down at the notes Neal had scrawled and then glanced back up at the ex-con. "So why isn't the museum asking us to look for gold?"

"My guess is they don't want anybody to know it's missing."

"Bad rep?"

"They'd certainly get one if word of this got out. Plus, I have a feeling somebody in the museum is keeping everything quiet."

"You think it's an inside job," Peter stated and Neal nodded. "What makes you so sure?"

"Priceless gold artifacts from the Egyptian Middle Kingdom? Something like that goes missing you'd like it would turn into a global affair. No, if it was taken and everything's hushed up like this it has to be somebody on the inside who knows what's going on. And it has to be somebody powerful to be able to keep this from turning up on the news and in the papers," Neal explained and Peter nodded.

"Alright." He reached towards Neal, motioning for the pen which the younger man handed to him. Peter jotted down a few extra notes on the paper and then folded it up and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He set down the pen and folded his hands on the table, taking a quick look around the apartment. "So," Peter said and Neal looked at him.

"So?"

"I found you a therapist," Peter said, figuring that the best way to tell Neal was outright. Neal nodded and waiting a minute or two before responding.

"When do I go?"

"Tomorrow. I'll pick you up at 3, your appointment's at a quarter to four. The office is outside of your radius, but I talked to Hughes. As long as I'm there the whole time, he's fine with it."

Neal was quiet. Peter allowed him a few moments to comprehend everything and when he didn't respond he decided to prompt some kind of an answer.

"Are you ok with that?" Neal was still for a moment, but then he inclined his head.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Alright," Peter said. He looked around the apartment again and then back to Neal, unsure of what he should do or say next. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked over to the door. "Are you ok if I leave?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, go ahead," Neal replied. "Elizabeth's probably waiting for you."

"Yeah," Peter agreed with a small smile. "I bet she is."

Peter stood up, patted Neal on the shoulder. He wasn't entirely sure why he did that, but he did nonetheless. It was the most affection he was really willing to show towards the ex-con, the only compassionate gesture he could think to offer. But it seemed to stir something in Neal. Peter didn't see at first and turned to walk away, towards the door so he could finally get home to his wife. But then he heard a tiny noise behind him, a pathetic little squeak and he turned around and saw Neal with his head bowed and his fingers combing through his hair and little rivulets snaking their way down his cheeks.

"Neal?" Peter said. Watching a grown-man cry is difficult. There was this part of Peter that wanted to hit him, yell and scream at him, tell him to cowboy up and move on with his life. But then those memories of the last few days, all of Neal's breakdowns replaying over and over again in his head, swam into his mind and reminded him of everything Neal was going through. Timidly, Peter stepped towards Neal, who turned away from him, trying to wipe away his tears. "Neal, it's ok," Peter soothed, reaching out towards Neal but the man shook his head and shifted so that Peter couldn't reach him- physically or emotionally.

"Neal-"

"No," Neal muttered, a soft syllable quickly pushed away when Neal tried to swallow a sob. "No, go home. Y-You've done enough Peter, really. Just go home."

"Hey," Peter said, kneeling down beside Neal. He grabbed the back of Neal's chair, close enough to Neal's back to offer a gentle, reassuring touch if it was needed. "I'm not going anywhere."


	4. Hold Me While I'm Fallin' Down

_Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar, but this plot and any additional characters do belong to me.  
**A/N:**_ Thank you so much again for your reviews, favorites, and story alerts! I'm sorry I couldn't do any review replies for the last chapter, I meant to but things have just been so crazy around here. So I hope you enjoy this chapter...Please read and review ^^

---

Dr. Daniel Saggezza had a very neat office, or at least a very neat waiting room, with everything perfectly in its place. He had a few paintings on the wall and while Peter checked in Neal sat in cushioned chair at the perfect angle to examine them. There was something about behind able to see art, any kind of art, that put his mind at ease, if only just a little bit. The paintings here were on small canvases. One was an ocean scene with all kinds of blue brushstrokes to form waves crashing over the sand and some seashells falling onto the beach. The second was also on the ocean but this time there was no beach. Just a little sailboat drifting along on the dark blue waves. Neal liked the pretty water scenes. They were soothing.

Peter settled next to Neal and gave him a kind of a side glance that felt to Neal very much like a warning. This made the ex-con smirk. For all the worry Peter had been showing, all the compassion and comfort he offered, he always remembered where Neal had come from- a life of scams and cons and art thefts. Peter then tapped the arm that connected his chair to Neal's and Neal's head whipped around to look at him. Peter to pointed to the door that had Dr. Saggezza's name engraved on a little plaque mounted to it.

"Just a few more minutes," Peter started, "and you can go in. Take as long as you need. I'll be right out here."

Neal looked over to the door, nodding his head. Then he looked back at Peter and, with a little hesitation, he asked, "Are…Are you allowed to come in with me?"

"Yeah," Peter said, looking a little surprised. "Yeah, I don't think that's a problem. I didn't think you'd want me to."

"I, um…" Neal looked down at his hands as he clasped them together and he bit his lower lip as if expressing some kind of insecurity. "I don't want to be alone."

Neal glanced over to Peter who nodded his understanding.

"Ok," he said and the corners of Neal's mouth twitched into a small smile. Just then, the door across the room creaked open and there was Dr. Saggezza with a warm smile on his face, his eyes settling rather quickly on Neal.

"Come on in," he invited, opening the door a little bit wider. Neal shot a glance over to Peter, as if to be sure he was going to stand by what he said, and then the two stood up together and walked past Dr. Saggezza and into his little office.

The walls were a warm beige color and there was a rather comfortable looking couch pushed up against one of them. There was a window that was opened just a crack, to let the cool air trickle in as it pleased. The warm sunlight poured in from the window, offering a little bit of heat to them. Dr. Saggezza waved his hand towards the couch and Peter and Neal both nodded and seated themselves.

"Just give me a moment," Dr. Sagezza said as he stepped behind his desk and rummaged through a drawer. He was an older man with some gray strands littering his black hair. He wore thin-rimmed glasses, and when he finally found what he was looking for and settled himself in a chair across from the couch he peered over the lenses at the two men. "So, which one of you is Neal?"

Neal slightly inclined his head and cleared his throat, the sound coming out much harsher than he had intended.

"I am," he said softly. Dr. Sagezza nodded and scribbled something down on his notepad before looking back up at Neal. He cast a glance Peter's way.

"He asked me to come in," Peter said, answering a question that was never asked. The doctor nodded again and again he looked down to scribble something on his pad.

"So, Neal," Dr. Sagezza began as he turned his attention back to the young man. "You want to start off with some small talk, or do you want to get right down to the real issues?"

Neal looked down, his brow furrowed, and then he glanced around the room, his eyes touching on Peter quickly and then flitting back over to Dr. Saggezza. He sighed and rubbed his hands together.

"I guess we can just get to it," he said with a little bit of a gulp. The therapist tapped his pen against his notepad and gave Neal a small smile.

"Agent Burke here tells me you've got insomnia," he said, more of a statement than a question. Neal kind of liked the way he was being eased into the conversation. He leaned his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers and let out a long sigh.

"I haven't slept for days," Neal said softly, and suddenly there was exhaustion tugging at his words.

"What is it that's keeping you from sleeping?" the doctor asked. Neal took in a shaky breath and felt all of his muscles tense up. He felt Peter tense beside him as well, and the older man shifted so that they were closer to each other, just in case Neal needed that.

"Nightmares," Neal breathed after a long pause.

"What can you tell me about these nightmares?"

"Um," Neal shifted and clasped his hands together, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Well, different things really. But they all have the same feeling."

"What feeling is that, Neal?" Dr. Saggezza asked. Neal shrugged his shoulders.

"I feel trapped." He hoped Peter didn't notice as he shot glance down to his ankle, imagining the bulky tracker underneath the fabric of his hands. He forced himself to look the doctor in the eye, even though he felt his tracker burning against his skin, just like in one of his nightmares.

"What's trapping you?"

"In the dreams?" Neal inquired and the doctor nodded. "Darkness, mostly. It kind of…It comes to life. Like shadows that can pull themselves off the ground and walk around. They grab me and pin me down. In the last one I was in the middle of this huge ring of fire, and the flames just started lashing out, like they were grabbing at me. And I could hear all these people outside the circle. They were all screaming, but…but I couldn't get to them. I couldn't help them."

When Neal finished, he looked worse than he had before. There was sweat forming on his brow and tears forming in his eyes and his breathing was heavy. He took a slow breath in an attempt to calm himself while Dr. Saggezza jotted something down on his notepad.

"Are there any people in your life who are like those screaming people in your dream?" the doctor inquired. Neal looked down at the floor, digging his toe into the plush carpet. He could feel Peter's eyes on him, he could feel the word heavy in between himself and the agent.

_Kate._

Neal couldn't bring himself to say her name. It was right there, dancing on the very tip of his tongue, hovering over his lips, but he just couldn't say it. It brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He sighed and felt his body shake a bit and he looked over to Peter with pleading eyes.

"Kate." Peter had said it for him, and Neal felt a single little tear snaking its way down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away and then looked back to Dr. Saggezza, nodding his head.

"Neal," the doctor said, "do you feel trapped because you know you can't help Kate?"

"I don't know," Neal said, the words simply drifting off his tongue. He didn't notice as Dr. Saggezza and Peter exchanged a glance, he didn't notice Peter nodding his head.

"What's stopping you from helping her?" Dr. Saggezza and Neal looked up with him a strange kind of surprised look, like it was a trick question. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. But it might be able to help you."

"Two miles," Neal said after a sigh. He felt tears pricking at his eyes again, a sob working its way up his throat, but he managed to swallow it down.

"Right," Dr. Saggezza said. "Agent Burke told me about your…situation."

Dr. Saggezza looked down at Neal's ankle and Neal pulled his leg back as if he could hide it. He suddenly felt uncomfortable and glanced over at Peter, hoping his eyes would tell the other man what he wanted to say. To Neal's relief, Peter nodded his head.

"Doctor, thank you so much for your time, but I think we'd better be going," Peter said. Dr. Saggezza nodded as well.

"Yes, of course," he said. "But before you leave, can I just suggest something that might help you, Neal?"

The other two men looked at Neal, waiting for his answer. He leaned back against the couch cushions and shrugged.

"Sure," he said softly.

"Is there anything in your home that might remind you of this Kate?" Dr. Saggezza wanted to know. Neal felt a sad smile creep onto his lips as he pictured his cluttered little apartment back at June's.

_The wine bottle. The notes from Grand Central. The lonely feeling when he woke up in the morning in a bed big enough for two all by himself. _

"A few things," he whispered so low the other two had to strain to hear him.

"Maybe getting away from all of that for a few nights would do you some good," Dr. Saggezza suggested. Neal considered this for a long moment and then slowly nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Saggezza," he said as he rose to his feet. Dr. Saggezza reached out and the two shook hands, and then he shook hands with Peter and recommended that Neal make another appointment for next week. Peter had agreed, and before they left the office he stopped by the secretary and set up Neal's next appointment for him.

---

"You can stay with Elle and me," Peter offered after only ten minutes of being the car with the ex-con. Neal glanced over at him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, reluctance apparent in his voice.

"Yeah," Peter said. "We've got a guest room. It's small, but comfortable. And Elle's been worried sick about you, so it might do her some good to be able to see you."

"Elle's worried?" Neal asked and the corners of Peter's mouth curled up into a smile.

"Of course she is." And then he took a more serious tone. "I think it would be best for all of us if you stayed with us. Besides, it's not like you've got anywhere else to go."

Neal smiled and a light laugh escaped him. "If you insist."

---

Elizabeth was seated at the dining table, looking over menus from various caterers. She had an event in just two weeks, and her caterer had canceled on her last minute, leaving her with a very upset client and a near-impossible time-frame to set up a deal with a new one. So this was the task she was tackling and Satchmo jumped up from his spot beneath her feet and ran towards the door, his black claws clacking against the floor.

"Honey," she heard Peter call and she immediately rose from her seat.

"Peter?" she called back, walking into the living room. She found her husband there, with the dog jumping up and down around him, and behind him stood a very sad, tired looking Neal Caffrey. "Oh," Elizabeth said softly. "Neal."

"Hi," Neal said sheepishly. Peter motioned to the couch and Neal, with a slight nod of his head, made his way towards it, Satchmo following him with a dopey kind of grin on his face. When Neal sat down, the dog thrust a paw onto his knee, and Elizabeth couldn't help but smile as Neal started patting the labrador's head.

"Elle, hun, can I talk to you for a minute?" Peter asked and Elizabeth said yes and led the way into the kitchen. Once there she leaned against the counter facing her husband and crossed her arms over her chest.

"So what happened? What did the therapist say?" she asked. Peter shrugged and slid into a chair. He scrubbed a hand over his face and then looked back to his wife, whose expectant eyes were waiting for an answer.

"It's Kate," he said simply. Elizabeth seemed to tense for a minute, and then she relaxed and uncrossed her arms. She crossed the kitchen and sat down across from her husband, her whole expression suddenly softening.

"All of this," she said, "because of Kate?"

"He mentioned her," Peter said, and he went on to explain Neal's dream about the fire and the screaming and how Dr. Saggezza had suggested that maybe the screaming people were supposed to represent Kate. He told Elizabeth how the doctor had suggested that Neal get away from his apartment.

"He can stay here as long as he needs to," Elizabeth said, just like Peter knew she would, and he smiled at her.

"I have to call Hughes," Peter said. "Tell him what's going on."

"Go ahead," Elizabeth said, reaching out and curling her slender fingers around his hand. "You call Reese. I'll get Neal settled in."

---

As soon as he heard Elizabeth's heels clicking on the floor Satchmo nearly raced to her. She smiled down at the dog and quickly scratched behind the ear before seating herself on the couch beside Neal.

"So Peter told you everything?" Neal asked.

"Yeah," she said. She looked him over and he could only imagine what she was thinking. The last time he'd seen Elizabeth, he'd looked healthy. He was in one of his too-chipper moods, cracking lighthearted jokes like he always did. Now, he knew, he was almost sickly pale, and his eyes had dark purple bags hanging under them. His blue eyes were dull and he didn't have the energy to spew out jokes like he usually did. Elizabeth lightly touched his arm.

"You look tired," she said and the simple statement stirred a tiny fragment of a smile from him and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I am."

"Come on," Elizabeth said, standing up and holding out her hand to him. "Let's get you set up."

Neal forced a smile, for Elizabeth's sake, and allowed her to pull him up off the couch. He followed her upstairs. She led him into a cozy bedroom, set up as if somebody stayed there every night. She pulled the covers down and pointed the drawer of the dresser where they kept some spare clothes. She reminded him where the bathroom was and where the linen closet was in case he was cold and needed an extra blanket. She told him to get into bed, and after a moment's hesitation he crawled beneath the covers. Elizabeth crossed the room and tugged the curtains shut.

"Try and sleep," she told him, patting his shoulder affectionately as she sat on the edge of the bed. "You need it."

Neal nodded his agreement, and with another sweet smile Elizabeth left the room, leaving the door open just a crack. Neal rolled onto his side, facing away from the door, and snuggled down into the bed. He curled his fingers around the covers and closed his eyes, and under his breath he muttered a short prayer for sleep to finally settle over him.

---

Peter set the phone carefully back into its cradle and glanced up at the light footsteps he heard coming down the stairs. Elizabeth came into the living room and sat beside Peter, lacing her fingers with his.

"I don't know if he'll sleep," she said, "but at least he's resting. Did you talk to Hughes?

"Yeah," Peter said.

"And?"

"He's fine with everything," Peter said, and then a smirked, mostly to himself, as he continued. "And they found the stolen paintings in a warehouse in Manhattan. Along with some Egyptian gold artifacts."


	5. I May Be Weak But I'm Never Defeated

_Disclaimer: White Collar and its characters do not belong to me. This story, however, does.  
**A/N**_: Thank you again for all of your reviews and favs and alerts! I must say, this chapter was probably the most fun to write. Read and review please!

* * *

The cool air whipped around the agents, but other than the whistle of the winds it was quiet. Lauren Cruz glanced over to Clinton Jones, who in turn looked towards Peter Burke. Peter kept his gaze on the warehouse, his eyes narrowed as if doing so allowed him to see what was going on inside. They heard a thud against the ground, and then a storm of voices rose up from inside. Peter nodded his head.

"Go."

---

The stairs creaked under Neal's feet as he traveled slowly down them. There was no one in the living room, but he heard movement in the kitchen. He passed through the door to find Elizabeth standing over the stove, just lowering a wooden spoon into a pot.

"Hi," he said, his voice cracking a little bit. Elizabeth jumped and turned to face him and her surprise quickly turned into a smile.

"Sleep at all?" she asked. Neal shrugged his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest.

"A little bit, I guess," he said. "Not much. Where's Peter?"

"Where else?" Elizabeth replied. "Work."

"What happened?" Neal asked, narrowing his eyes. Elizabeth bit her lower lip and Neal assumed she was trying to figure out how much to tell him. "We've been working a case. Did something happen with it?"

Elizabeth sighed and pulled the spoon out of the pot, wiping it off on a paper towel and then settling it on the counter. "He called Reese to tell him what was going with you. He mentioned something about stolen paintings and gold before he left."

"They found it?" Neal asked and Elizabeth nodded. Neal nodded as well and then he let his eyes wander around the room before looking back to her and speaking again. "Think he'll be home for dinner?"

"Not a chance," Elizabeth said, following the response with a light laugh. "So how are you feeling?"

Neal grunted and stepped closer to her so that he could lean his back against the counter while he talked.

"I didn't have any nightmares, if that's what you mean," he said. "But I don't really feel any different from before."

"Think you can sleep more?" Neal shook his head and instead of looking at her he kept his gaze trained on the floor when he spoke.

"Most of the time I was up there I spent staring at the wall. I only slept for maybe an hour at the most."

A wave of silence washed over the two, Neal's words hanging in the thin air. Out of the corner of his eye, although he tried not to look, Neal saw Elizabeth's lips pull down into a small frown and he thought he saw a little glint of worry in her usually bright eyes. And then, as if her concerned look was nothing but an illusion, she gently touched his arm, a gesture that gave him no choice but to look at her, and her face lit up into a warm, encouraging smile.

"It'll be ok," she assured.

"I hope so," Neal replied. Elizabeth took up the wooden spoon again, dropping into the pot and beginning to stir. "I really hope so."

---

There was a flurry of movement once the door was forced open. Shouts from both sides that Peter couldn't make out over the heavy footsteps of both parties running, one chasing the other. There was the click of handcuffs locking around wrists, the grunts of men as they were pushed out of the warehouse, curses slung left and right. But all the agent was focused on was the glittering gold at the very back of the dirty, dark warehouse. Delicate hieroglyphics were carved into the only-slightly tarnish metal, and the gold itself was molded into jugs and statues and simple slabs. Peter felt a smile flicker onto his face, but it was a sad one as he thought back to the exhausted man he'd left at home. Neal would have loved to see this.

---

Sitting down at the Burke's dining table felt strange to Neal when Peter wasn't there. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Elizabeth's company- in fact, he was just happy to have someone to make conversation with, someone to distract him from his restless mind- it was just that he wasn't used to being with Elizabeth without her husband. The house felt strange without his presence, Neal noticed. Like it was too big without him in it.

Neal twirled some spaghetti onto his fork and then let it fall back onto the plate and he did this over and over again, just poking and prodding at the food instead of actually eating it. Elizabeth looked like she was trying not to notice, but he knew it wouldn't last long. She took a long sip of water and as she set her glass down she couldn't stop herself from commenting.

"Something wrong?" she asked. Neal furrowed his brow and shrugged. "Not hungry?"

"Guess not," Neal said, shaking his head and finally setting his fork down on the plate before leaning back against the chair. "Sorry."

"No, no," Elizabeth said as she waved her hand with the words. "Don't be sorry."

The corner's of Neal's mouth slowly switched into a smile as he glanced up at her with tired blue eyes. He watched as she took one last bite of her meal and then scooped up both hers and Neal's plates to bring into the kitchen. He tried to get up and help her but she wouldn't have it, so he just sat at the table running his finger around the rim of his glass while he waited for her to return. When she did, she settled back into her chair and looked Neal over.

"Do you want anything?" she asked and Neal shook his head. He let silence wash over them again, but he never noticed how incredibly loud silence could actually be. It rang in his ears, pounded against his skull, and he had to break it.

"Elizabeth?" he whispered softly. When she looked up at him she looked a little surprised and he guessed it was because he called her by her full name. He usually didn't, he just used 'Elle', sometimes because it bothered Peter when he did and sometimes because it was just easier, but mostly it was because calling her by a nickname made him feel more connected to her. It made him feel like she was someone who was there, who he could talk to. And yet, somehow, that moment didn't call for him to use the name 'Elle'. 'Elizabeth' seemed more serious.

"Hmm?" she hummed after he didn't say anything for a while. Neal cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder as if to be sure they were really alone and he quickly turned back to her, hoping she didn't notice his nervous behavior.

"Have you ever had nightmares?" His voice was so low and soft that he almost couldn't hear it, and he thought Elizabeth hadn't heard him, either, as she folded her hands on the table and lowered her gaze a little bit. He was about to repeat the question when Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak.

"When Peter and I first got married, I wasn't really expecting what I was throwing myself into. I didn't realize how many late nights he'd have to work. I didn't think I'd have to go to bed alone so often. I was young, naive; I thought things would turn out perfect. I had trouble going to sleep the first few times Peter worked late, and when he'd come home I just cried to him and he always told me that he was going to be ok. White collar unit, that's what he always said. The criminals aren't as dangerous, the job doesn't have as many risks."

Elizabeth paused to take a quick sip of her water and then he placed her hands back on the table, absently tracing the lines of the wood with a delicate finger.

"This one time, we must have been married only two or three months at the time, he was handed a case that he got so caught up in. He'd go to work early every morning and he wouldn't come up until after I'd already gone to bed. The guy he was chasing, from the way Peter talked about him, was as dangerous as they come. Peter had come close to catching him when the guy pulled a gun on him and started threatening Peter and making all these demands."

"Peter had no choice but to back down," Neal concluded, and Elizabeth nodded her head.

"When I told me I kind of wished he hadn't because all I could think of when he went to work the next day was whether or not he'd get to come home. I couldn't call him before I went to bed, but we really couldn't talk long because he was so busy. I went to bed and I had the worst nightmare I've ever had. I woke up in the middle of the night practically screaming and I looked to the side and Peter wasn't there. I tried to go back to sleep, but the dream that came when I did was worse than the first one."

"What were the nightmares about?" Neal asked and then, remembering how painful it was for himself to talk about such dreams, he hastily added, "If you don't mind."

Elizabeth shook her head. "It was dark, and I could barely see anything inches from my face. I was walking around and then, all of a sudden, I heard this gunshot and I looked down and saw a puddle of red at my feet. That's when I woke up from the first one. When I went back to sleep, the dream just continued, and I followed the blood and I saw that it was-"

"Peter's," Neal finished. Elizabeth, sucking in her breath and briefly closing her eyes, nodded. She was quiet for a few moments and all they could hear was Satchmo's breath evening out in sleep as he drifted off lying underneath the table. Then she looked at Neal again and Neal could see her question in her eyes before it even lighted on her lips.

"What are your nightmares about, Neal?" she inquired. He let out a long, deep sigh and shifted where he sat.

"Being trapped," he said simply. Elizabeth swallowed and tapped her fingers against the table, debating on what to say next.

"Peter told me that Dr. Saggezza suggested they might be about Kate," she said, her voice sounding a little unsure as the words came out.

"Yeah," Neal breathed. "Yeah, he did."

"Do you think that's true?"

"I think…" Neal let his voice trail off as his eyes traveled down to the floor. The therapist, for all his years of experience and expertise, had not been the type to allow silence to fill a room. When Neal hadn't said anything and left it to Peter to explain Kate, the doctor seemed to have jumped to conclusions, and Neal had immediately felt uncomfortable. Luckily, Peter had noticed and whisked him out of the office as quickly as he could. But, now, Neal realized, he hadn't had the opportunity to really think over his nightmares for himself. He sighed and leaned forwards, elbows resting heavily on the dining table, hands holding up his head. "I think that's only half what they're about."

---

The adrenaline rush and excitement of the day's earlier arrest was started to wear off of all of the White Collar Crime Unit agents as they sifted through the massive amounts of paperwork that came with the arrest. The museum had been contacted, and a representative was being sent over as soon as possible to inspect the retrieved pieces and bring them back to their display cases.

Peter signed what felt like the millionth form that day when Lauren poked her heard into his office.

"What's up?" he asked as she pushed the door open a little further and stepped to the side so he could get a better look of what was going on outside his office.

"Museum rep's here," she said. "He wants to see you."

Sighing heavily, Peter lifted himself out of his chair and followed the younger agent out of the office. She led him to a man who introduced himself as Mr. Fabrica. The man said a lot of things that flew right over Peter's head not because it was too much to take in but because his head had been somewhere else completely since he and his team had recovered the gold. When Mr. Fabrica finally asked to see the pieces, Peter had leaped at the opportunity to send the man off with somebody else. He grabbed Jones' arm as the man was walking by him.

"Do me a favor?" Peter asked and Jones shrugged, clearly knowing that he really didn't have a say in the matter. "Can you take Mr. Fabrica down to see the paintings and the Egyptian gold?"

"Sure thing," Jones replied and Mr. Fabrica smiled at him.

"Thanks so much!" he said enthusiastically, clapping his hands together. "I just need to do a quick inspection of everything and then I can make the arrangements to take it all back."

"Sounds good," Jones replied, and after exchanging a nod with Peter, he led the man to the elevators. Peter watched them go, Mr. Fabrica still chatting up a storm as the heavy doors slid open for them, and then he returned to his desk, hoping to get through the rest of his work quickly so that he could get home fast.

---

"It's the anklet, isn't it?" Elizabeth questioned. Neal felt the bulky thing chaffing against his leg. Sometimes, he swore, it left that whole patch of skin completely raw if he stayed on his feet to long. If he moved a certain way he could feel it press against him, reminding him that he was only being a given a small taste of freedom.

"Yeah," he said. "In my first nightmare, the one that keeps coming back, all these shadows are crawling around me and they always wrap around my ankle right before I wake up."

"You know it isn't there to hurt you," Elizabeth reminded him. Neal knew, of course Neal knew. This was what he'd asked for, after all.

"I know," he sighed. "I keep on telling myself that. But then I look around at everyone in the office and not a single one of them looks at me like a normal person, because to them I'm not. I'm the criminal, and they all know it, and they try not to but there are parts of all of them that I know want to treat me like it. They're all different from me, and the anklet proves it. They don't trust me."

Elizabeth drank in all that Neal had to say and then she said something that surprised him. "Peter does."

"He-"

"He'd probably never say it out loud, but he does. I've seen the way he talks about, the way he looks at you, and it's all changed. He trusts you, Neal. Maybe not exactly as much as you trust him, but it's progress."

Neal couldn't help but smile. He felt a kind of relief wash over him as the words ran around and around again in his head. Somebody trusted him and it was the last person he had expected. It was the man who had chased him for three years. It was the man who threw him in jail. It was the man who had coming running after him again when he broke out (three months left on a four year sentence, Peter would never let him forget). It was the man who had given him a chance when nobody else would.

A yawn rippled through Neal and he arched his back and stretched his arms and looked to see Elizabeth smiling at him. He smiled back.

"I think I'm gonna try and get some more sleep," Neal announced. Elizabeth's smile, if possible, grew.

"I think that would be a good idea."

---

Peter was thankful that it did not take him too long to wrap up the post-catch paperwork. He slid into the comfortable seats of his Taurus at 8:30 and managed to get home before nine, much to his wife's surprise. She'd jumped up off the couch when he opened the door and glided over to him, wrapping her arms around him before he'd even had a chance to take off his coat.

"Hi," she said after a quick kiss.

"Hi to you, too," Peter said, a smile breaking across his face as Elizabeth stepped back to allow him to slip his arms out of his coat sleeves. He hung the garment on the coat rack and turned back to his wife. "So?"

"So?" Peter shook his head.

"How's Neal?" Elizabeth shrugged.

"All right," she said.

"He sleep at all?" Peter asked.

"He said he didn't sleep much earlier, but after dinner he went back up. I haven't heard a thing since," Elizabeth explained.

Peter nodded and then started up the stairs, Elizabeth close behind him, both eager to check up on their ailing houseguest. They crept to the guest room door together and, as quietly as he could, trying to avoid making the old hinges squeak, Peter pushed the door open. Neal was lying on his side on the bed, his back facing the door. His breath seemed steady. Not steady enough for him to be asleep, but relaxed and definitely almost there.

"He seems ok," Peter whispered, and he felt his wife wrap her slender fingers around his arm to pull him away from the door. She reached across him to pull the door quietly shut, but not without taking one last peek at Neal. She smiled to herself as she turned around to face her husband again.

"He's going to be fine."


	6. Say Good Morning To The Night

_Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar or any of its characters. This story, however, is mine.  
**A/N:**_ LAST CHAPTER~! It's kind of sad to see this story end, but at the same time it's the first chapter story I finished in years so I'm rather proud of myself. And you have all been great, thanks so much for your support! There's an additional authors note at the end of the chapter. Read and review as always! Hope you enjoy this final chapter!  


* * *

The sunlight struggled through the slits of the blinds. A groan worked its way out of Neal's dry throat as he turned onto his side, away from the light, not wanting to be woken up just yet. The sun kissed his neck and he tossed the covers over his shoulders to make it stop. He exhaled, burrowed into the bed, and paused, his eyes still closed, as he took a moment to listen to his surroundings.

The room itself was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Outside the door he heard the familiar panting of the Burke's trusty dog. He heard the animal whine and then he heard a hushed voice from the base of the stairs.

"Come on, Satch," Elizabeth whispered. The dog whined again and then huffed and Neal heard a light thud on the floor which he guessed was made by the stubborn labrador laying down outside the door. He heard the stairs sighing under Elizabeth's feet as she made her way up them. "Satchmo, let's go."

There was no sound for about half a minute, and then Neal heard a door creek open somewhere down the hall. Footsteps traveled toward the guest room, heavier than Elizabeth's.

"Listen to your mother," Peter's voice joked and Neal heard Elizabeth's soft laugh as Satchmo's tags jingled and his claws started to click-clack against the wooden floor. The stairs creaked again underneath Satchmo's paws.

"Good morning," Elizabeth said to her husband.

"Morning," Peter replied.

"You heading out soon?"

"Yeah, I think I am," Peter said. "Have you checked on Neal yet?"

"I didn't want to wake him," Elle explained. The floorboards protested as Peter leaned towards the door to open it and Neal flipped himself over again, tossing the comforter over his head. Light from the hallway slithered into the room but was quickly covered by Peter's shadow.

"Wonder how long he slept," Peter whispered.

"Clearly not long enough," Elizabeth replied. Her shadow blocked out the rest of the light and Neal listened as the door was closed again. There was silence, sweet silence, for a minute or two, and then Peter sighed.

"I guess I'll get going," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, there's still some more paperwork I have to go over."

"All right." The stairs moaned their protest as Peter descended them. He paused towards the bottom.

"Have him call me when he gets up?"

"I will."

Peter went the rest of the way down the stairs and in the next few minutes Neal heard him moving downstairs to get his coat, his shoes, to shove the dog out of the way so he could get out of the house. The front door clicked. Elizabeth lingered at the door for a few moments more and then Neal heard her go back to the first floor.

Neal rolled onto his back and allowed his eyes to open slowly. He laid there for a moment, then propped himself up on his elbows so he could see the clock on the nightstand better. It was 7:40. 7:40 in the morning. It was 7:40 in the morning and Neal had just woken up. Neal remembered climbing up the stairs the previous night sometime after 8. He remembered lying awake in the bed until finally nodding off sometime around 11. This meant that he had actually slept for 8 hours and 40 minutes. Straight. No darkness trapped him inside his dreams, no fire burned him so badly he woke up sweating, no screams echoed in the back of his head.

No nightmares. Just eight hours and forty minutes of uninterrupted sleep.

---

The office wasn't the same without Neal. Peter- and all of the agents, in fact- had grown accustomed to seeing him flitting around, flirting shamelessly with the women, making small-talk with the men, twirling that ridiculous hat in his hands. They were all used to his often unwanted input during briefings. Although nobody would want to admit it, Neal's presence seemed to make the office a little homier. He was the one who asked about your kids, who complimented your wardrobe choices, who gave you a reassuring wink when you weren't all-too-sure about yourself.

Of course, life was going on without him. The agents didn't need to chit-chat with him over morning coffee. They were perfectly fine going about their business without the ex-con. But Peter felt, and he could tell others did too, how empty the office seemed without Neal there. It had only been a few days and already Peter missed bickering with the younger man over cases, joking with him over lunch, warning him when he talked too much in a meeting.

Lauren Cruz knocked on the glass door once before she pushed it open and Peter glanced up at her. She waltzed inside with a small stack of papers in her hand and when she got close enough she dropped the papers onto his desk.

"More?" Peter asked and Lauren looked apologetic as she nodded her head.

"Sorry, boss," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Peter waved her off. He imaged what Neal would have done if he were at work with them. Groan at the papers, probably. Complain how bored he was. Maybe flirt with Lauren a little bit. Lauren lingered in Peter's office for a minute, glancing around. "Seems quieter without him here, huh?" she commented.

"Yeah," Peter sighed. "Quieter."

---

"Yes, that sounds perfect!" Elizabeth said cheerfully once her assistant had finished describing the venue for an upcoming 50th anniversary party they were working on. In truth, though, Elizabeth hadn't really been paying too-close attention to the description. She was a little distracted by the light footsteps coming down the stairs, the shuffling feet on the floor of the living room, the young man standing in the doorway of the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Elizabeth waved to Neal, who gave a small wave back.

"Can I call you back later?" Elizabeth said into the phone, and then she said her goodbye and hung up, making herself able to focus her attention on Neal. "Well, good morning!"

"Hey," Neal said, his voice a little hoarse. He pointed to the sink. "May I?"

"Oh, of course," Elizabeth said. She turned around and swung open a cabinet door, pulling out a glass and filling it with water for him.

"Thanks," Neal said as he reached out and graciously took the glass from her.

"No problem," Elizabeth said with a warm smile. She waited as Neal took a few sips of the water and then she motioned towards the dining room. They went in together and sat down at the dining room, Neal taking one more small sip of his water before setting the glass down on the wood. "So, how'd you sleep?"

The smile that broke across Neal's face was as radiant as the sun and when he looked up at her his blue eyes were dancing, the spark finally alighting in them again. "Great."

---

Peter signed the bottom of the last sheet and slapped atop the pile, nodding with satisfaction that he'd finished. He sighed and stretched his arms, leaning as far back in his chair as he could. As he leaned his arms on his desk again he saw a little blue light shining from underneath all the papers that littered his workspace, followed by a quiet ringing. He moved the papers around, fishing through them for his cell phone. He flipped it open as soon as he found it.

"Hello," he said and he was pleasantly surprised by the voice that responded.

"Hi," Neal chirped. Peter couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face.

"Well hi, sleeping beauty," Peter said with the tiniest hint of sarcasm. "How are you?"

"Pretty good," Neal said. He sounded happy. Really, truly happy- just the way Neal should sound. "No nightmares."

"That's great," Peter said and he could practically see Neal's ear-to-ear smile through the phone, he could feel the excitement pouring off the other man.

"Yeah," Neal agreed. And then Peter felt the mood of the conversation shift, the tone suddenly darken. Neal sounded a little bit distant. "I have to go back to June's."

"No, not right away," Peter said instinctually. He felt a pang in his heart at the pain in Neal's voice. "You can stay with us for another night, at least. And tomorrow I can take you back to June's."

"Are you sure, Peter?" Neal asked. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're no burden," Peter said. "You can stay with me and Elle until you're ready to leave, alright?"

"Ok," Neal replied after slight hesitation. "I think Elizabeth wants to talk to you."

"Sure, put her on. I'll see you later, Neal."

"See you," Neal said, and then there was a minute of quiet as Neal passed the phone over to Peter's wife.

"Hi," Elizabeth greeted and Peter felt his smile widen at the sound of her voice.

"Hey, honey," he said warmly. "He sounds a lot better."

"Yeah, he looks better, too," Elle replied. "So what time do you think you'll be getting home tonight?"

Peter looked to the papers scattered about his desk, the small stack he'd already completed. He looked out to the rest the White Collar Crime Unit, watching the other agents as they typed away on computers and made phone calls and flipped through files. It was a slow day leading into what looked like a slow weekend. It looked as if the FBI could make do with one less agent.

"I think I can be home early," Peter replied.

"Oh?" Elizabeth questioned, clearly surprised. She wasn't used to her hard-working husband doing such things, although Peter knew it always pleased her when he decided to go in an hour later or come home earlier.

"Yeah," he said, standing up and pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder so that his hands were free to straighten up the papers on his desk. "Just give me about an hour."

"Ok," Elle said, her voice a tad bit more chipper than it had been during the conversation. "That sounds good."

"Alright then, I'll see you soon."

"Ok. I love you, Peter."

"Love you too." Peter hung up the phone and tucked in his pocket. He then gathered up all of the various papers he had read through and attached his signature to that day and took them across the wide office to Hughes' desk. Peter's superior wasn't there at the moment- he'd probably gone out on a coffee run- so Peter dropped the papers on his desk and went back to his own office. He quickly tidied things up, remembering all the times Neal had mocked him for doing so, and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and shrugged it on.

He imagined it was a strange site for the other agents in White Collar Unit who knew Peter. They were used to him staying later than he was supposed to, so it wasn't much of a surprise to see them giving him odd looks as he made his way to the elevator.

---

When Peter got home he found Neal on the couch, Satchmo laying beside him and panting as Neal scratched behind the dogs ears. Neal glanced up when the door squeaked open and the smile he gave Peter was the first sign of the real Neal Caffrey Peter had seen in days.

"How was work?" Neal asked and Peter shrugged.

"Piles of paperwork. You know, the usual."

"The boring stuff," Neal replied and Peter shook his head.

"Yeah, that. Where's my wife?"

As if on cue, Elizabeth came out of the kitchen. She smiled and walked a little faster to reach Peter as he hung up his coat. They embraced each other and kissed and then she stepped back and looked him over.

"So, slow day?" she asked.

"Very," Peter answered. "How about here?"

Elizabeth and Neal glanced at each other and they both shrugged. They gave their accounts of the day- Neal saying her hadn't really done much of anything and Elizabeth saying she felt like she was on the phone all day working out details for an event. Then Elizabeth disappeared into the kitchen again, promising to have dinner ready in just a few more minutes. Peter turned to Neal and Satchmo and tapped the latter on the head.

"Come on, Satch, down," he ordered and the dog hopped off of the couch, circled the coffee table, and settled himself at Neal's feet with a heavy sigh. Peter fell onto the cushions beside the ex-con.

"So," Neal said, desperate to stay out of an uncomfortable silence. "What happened with that case?"

"The art and gold theft?" Peter asked and Neal nodded his head. "Caught him. He may have been smart about how to get all that stuff, but he made a stupid move in bringing it all to the same warehouse. We got him when he and his guys were getting ready to try and transport the paintings somewhere else."

Neal smiled. "So it's finished?"

"Yep."

"Good," Neal said. "That's good."

"Boys!" Elizabeth called, as if she were beckoning her children. "Dinner!"

Their meal was pleasant. The food was delicious and the conversation was light and everything just seemed incredibly normal. Neal and Peter even made a few jabs at each other- Neal making a remark about Peter's choice of tie and Peter retaliating by comparing Neal's own clothing choices to that of cartoon characters. Elizabeth had kept the peace between them and when she was finished both men stood up to help her clear the table.

Neal retired earlier than the Burke's, and before he went up to bed Peter reminded him that they would go back to June's house the next day. Neal agreed, a little reluctantly, and then went up to the guest room. Peter and Elizabeth went upstairs just a few hours later, both of them fighting the urge to check up on Neal. They agreed to leave him alone that night, since he seemed to be so much better.

"Peter," Elizabeth said right after her husband shut off the light.

"Hm?" he hummed, turning his head to look at her.

"Do you think his nightmares are gone? For good, I mean?"

Peter reached over and covered her hand with his.

"We'll find out," Peter said. "I'm taking him home tomorrow. He's had some time to clear his head here. And either way, I haven't cancelled his next appointment with Dr. Saggezza, so if anything else happens he'll have help."

Elizabeth bit her lower lip in thought.

"Elle, he's getting through this just fine," Peter assured, squeezing her hand. Elizabeth nodded and snuggled under the covers, getting as close to Peter as she could.

"You'll keep looking out for him, right?" she asked, holding both his hands tights in hers. Peter's warm breath hit her neck when he whispered his reply.

"Always."

---

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. Neal and Peter, after a nice lunch with Elizabeth, climbed into the Taurus. Peter put the key in the ignition and, before starting the car, he glanced over at the young man in the passenger seat. Neal wasn't pale anymore, his eyes shone like they used to, and the deep, dark circles under them were starting to disappear. He looked better. He looked like Neal.

Neal ran a hand through his hair and glanced over at the FBI agent.

"You wanna drive or just keep looking at me?" he asked with a laugh. Peter smiled. Yeah, he was definitely Neal. Peter pulled out of the driveway and started towards June house. Neal had seemed alright that morning when Peter mentioned taking him, but now, as they drove on and drew closer to Neal's current place of residence, he noticed how the ex-con's muscles were tensing, how Neal clenched his fists now and then, how he bit his lip.

"You ok?" Peter asked. Neal shook his head and then he shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm fine, I guess," he said. "Just a little…A little nervous, I guess. Worried. I…I don't want to go through all that again."

"You don't have to go back today, you know," Peter said. "If you want to spend another night at my place you're welcome to."

"You've done enough already, Peter," Neal said. "Really. You and Elizabeth have been great."

"I'm just saying, our door is open."

"Thanks," Neal said. "But…I don't think I should put this off. I can't hide out at your place forever, right?"

Peter smiled. "Right."

There was silence while the mansion slowly came into their view, looming over them as the car came closer to it. Peter parked and turned off the car and turned to look at Neal, who was staring up at the building.

"It…It can't be that bad, right?" Neal asked.

"No," Peter said. "I don't think so."

"Ok." Neal unbuckled his seatbelt but made no further moves to get out of the car. Peter looked him over once more.

"Neal, are you sure you're ready? I just said I'd take you back today because I thought you might want to go home. But if you aren't ready, we can just go back. I don't mind," he said. Neal shook his head and put his hand on the door, fingering the lock.

"It'll be fine," he said, seeming like he was trying to convince himself and not just Peter. He finally pushed open his door and let himself out of the Taurus, Peter following suit. Side-by-side, the men walked up the stone steps. Peter reached out and knocked on the door and the maid let them inside. She told them that June was out with granddaughter, but would be back soon, and then let them go up to Neal's guest suite.

The room was unkempt, just as Neal had left it. There were wine bottles on the coffee table and glasses crowding the sink. There were scraps of paper littering the little dining table, a pen lying on top of a notepad as if somebody had just left it there seconds ago. Neal looked around and drew in his breath.

"Well?" Peter urged, waiting for a reaction. Neal walked to the center of the room and folding his arms over his chest. He looked over his shoulder at Peter and smiled.

"I'm fine," he assured. He sighed and turned back around to the apartment. "Everything's fine."

---

Peter had left him there hours ago. It was midnight now, and Neal was lying in his own bed. He was on his back staring up at the ceiling. He took a slow breath as he ran through all of the reasons why he was anxious about coming back to his apartment that day. The apartment was where his whole problem had started. All reminders of Kate were there. It was 1.6 miles away from the sleazy motel that served as the base of his 2 mile radius. He was trapped there, in a sense. The shadows were darker in those rooms than they were back at the Burke's.

Neal took a deep breath, counting to 5 to inhale and 5 again to exhale. Everything that reminded him of Kate, anything that tugged his thoughts towards her, was in a box resting on his bookshelf in the next room. He tossed aside the covers and glanced down at his anklet. It was still as bulky and ugly and annoying as ever, but it didn't seem so menacing anymore. Neal sighed and pulled his blankets back over himself. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep right away, but he also knew that no matter what time he finally drifted off he would sleep through the night and wake up refreshed in the morning.

4 o'clock would come and go, and Neal knew that at that hour he would be sound asleep without a single nightmare to interrupt his sweet dreams.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

Ok, well, thanks again for being so great with your reviews, favorites and story alerts! I have another White Collar chapter story coming out soon. It'll be called This Woman's Work, so keep an eye out for it :3 I'll also have lots of oneshots because oneshots are fun to write and make me happy. ^^

Here's a list of songs I used while writing this story...

1. _Title_ and _Only Madness Knows My Name_ -- _4 O'Clock_, Emilie Autumn  
2. _Too Tired to Be Fighting _-- _A Bad Dream_, Keane  
3. _My Broken Wings Can't Hold My Weight -- Broken Wings_, Evergrey  
4. _Hold Me While I'm Falling Down -- Hurt Me_, Kerli  
5. _I May Be Weak But I'm Never Defeated -- Sweet Silver Lining_, Kate Voegele  
6. _Say Good Morning To The Night -- Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters, _Elton John


End file.
